


Melancholic

by TheAngelicShipper



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Artist Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Eren - Freeform, Graphic Descriptions of Paint, Levi - Freeform, M/M, Painter Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Painting, Reincarnation, Rivalle - Freeform, Sad, ereri, riren - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6788365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngelicShipper/pseuds/TheAngelicShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gold eyes watched him, unblinking. Their gaze never broke, and they never left him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholic

Levi hated mornings. No, correct that. He hated slow mornings. Not there mornings where he was woken by the blare of an alarm and stumbled out of bed and into the shower, rubbing the sleep quickly from his eyes. He hated soft mornings, ones where he was greeted by yellow sunlight pressing against his eyelids, where he was able to drift between sleep and wakefulness before getting up. It was then when he truly noticed how horribly alone he felt, how the bed was always cold, how he didn’t have a warm body pressed against his. How there was no feeling of his chest and another’s rising and falling together. The house always felt empty, a missing presence thickening the air. Occasionally Levi would swear that he could see someone out of the corner of his eye, a flash of movement. But there was nothing but empty air.

There was one good thing about soft weekend mornings though. It gave Levi plenty of time to paint. He wasn’t much of a “people person” and other than work and tasks around the house he normally didn’t have much to do, or anyone to talk to. Well, there was Hanji, but Levi thought he would easily be driven insane if he talked to her every day. So he just took out his paint, some paper, and worked on the floor for hours, hardly taking a break even to eat or drink. As he painted, the world around him faded to gray, and there was nothing but the feeling of maneuvering his brush across the canvas. He wished he could stay like this forever, the problems of the world far off in the distance.

 

Three Years Later

 

“Oi Levi!”  
He heard the shout as soon as he walked in. Hanji draped her arm over his shoulder, grinning wildly.  
“I wouldn’t have thought that you could make such nice stuff with that stuck still up your ass!”  
A couple people around them turned, shooting pointed glares at Hanji.  
“Shut up Four Eyes, or we’ll be thrown out.”  
He lowered his voice.  
“Besides, if anyone has a stick up their ass it’s all these snobs.”  
“Come on Levi, they wouldn’t throw out the person who painted this entire gallery!”  
She did have a point. Levi had never thought that he would make it this far. An entire gallery filled with his work? It felt like a strange lingering dream, that at any moment his eyes would open and he would go back to his old job. He had begun by entering pieces into contests, just hoping to pay his rent. As more and more of his paintings won, he gained a greater and greater audience. It was strange, grumpy Levi Ackerman had paintings in a museum.  
Levi stood next to Hanji in the center of the room. People kept shaking his hand, and it was getting exhausting. If he had to listen to one more “You look taller in photos!” he was going to deck someone. He stared at one of his paintings, examining every minuet brush stroke and blob of paint. It was probably his favorite, even though it was just a simple portrait. Most of what he painted were epic battle scenes, people on horseback with strange swords. Though he had painted other portraits, most of them were of frowning people in stiff uniforms. One such portrait was his painting of a man with blonde hair and cold blue eyes. The man was stiff and grim, not exactly a warm figure. But the painting Levi was looking at was different. He had done it from memory, even though he had no idea who he had actually painted. He hardly remembered painting the piece, except for when he had made the final stroke. When he stopped, he realized he had been crying, tears running down his cheeks. He had absolutely no reason to cry of course. He just did. It was odd, as the figure was smiling, their large golden eyes filled with joy. Though he had painted the boy with warm, comforting colors, the background was alternating shades of dark gray, as though the boy was smiling amid thunderclouds. Levi had insisted that this piece, above all others, be included in the exhibit. The painting filled him with a strange melancholy. Sometimes it comforted him, making him flash a rare smile. But sometimes he wanted to tear it apart, break it with his own hands, burn it. Anything it took to escape from those eyes staring endlessly back at him. Occasionally, it felt like he could see those eyes out of the corner of his eyes, a brilliant flash of gold watching him. But whenever he turned, the eyes were gone.

 

Slowly, the party began to die down, rich people who had drank a bit too much champagne stumbling out the door. The lights dimmed, bathing the gallery in shadow. Levi sat down on a bench in the center, ignoring Hanji as she said he should leave soon. It was surreal, all the unblinking eyes staring down at him. Levi’s heart pounded in his chest, but he still didn’t want to leave. He felt like he owed something to the paintings, as though they didn’t deserve to be left alone all night. The only light was pale moonlight, drifting in through a window. Staring at the painting of the boy with gold eyes, Levi spoke.

“What is it with you, huh? I don’t know you. At least I don’t think I do.”

Everything was quiet for a second. Levi genuinely thought the painting might answer.

“That’s all you give me, you stupid brat!”

He felt his eyes getting wet with tears ready to be shed.

“All I want it to know who you are! Why you follow me, never letting me get any peace. Are you some demon, sent from the depths of hell to torment me? If so, then why am I the one who feels guilty?”

He laughed, even as teardrops landed on his new suit.  
“Here I am, talking to a goddamn painting. What a shithead I must be.”

The room was quiet, the air thick with something Levi couldn’t describe. He wiped away his tears with his sleeve, eyes never leaving the painting.

“I just want to say I’m sorry. I don’t know for what, but I know I did something, and I think, if I had to guess, you are dead because of it. I’m sorry…”

He stood, striding towards the painting. Placing a hand on the canvas, he splayed his fingers across the dried paint. Levi leaned his head against the canvas, breathing in the smell of acrylics. His tears fell onto the frame, darkening the wood.

 

 

 

“I’m so sorry” he choked, breaths coming out as gasps.

 

 

 

 

“Eren.”


End file.
